


The Kiss Cam

by blueeyesandpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, College Football, Dean knows what he wants, Deepthroating, Emotional Abuse, Established Crowley/Dean Winchester, Extremely minor Sabriel, Jo Harvelle is a good friend, Kiss cam, M/M, Manipulative Crowley (Supernatural), Marriage Proposal, Nothing sexual happens between Dean/Crowley, There is no infidelity in this fic, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Writer Dean Winchester, this is NOT a sports story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie
Summary: Dean's excited about the tickets he got for the OSU/UofM football match, but his boyfriend Crowley seems intent on ruining the day (and possibly his life) for him.  When the kiss cam settles on them and Crowley pushes Dean away, a blue-eyed man they'd met in line is more than happy to fill the void.Looselybased on the headline/prompt "Woman Kisses Man Next to Her on Kiss Cam After Date Snubs Her."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Crowley (Supernatural)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 57
Kudos: 400
Collections: The Profound Network





	The Kiss Cam

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing I know about any sport is that OSU and UofM football fans can't stand each other, so I went with that. My sincere apologies, folks. XD 
> 
> The art in this fic is by [sarasaurussex](https://sarasaurussex.tumblr.com/), and it was beta'd by [tipofmemory](https://tipofmemory.tumblr.com). Thank you so much!!

Crowley doesn’t want to go to the game. 

It’s obvious from the second he shows up at Dean’s place, though in true Crowley form, he doesn’t  _ say _ he doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t say anything at all, actually. Instead, he settles in a chair by the door and pulls out his phone with a familiar huffy grunt.

Dean’s used to the heavy feeling blooming in his gut when his boyfriend doesn’t greet him and the anxiety that grips him tighter with every passing moment of silence. It’s a familiar song and dance, unfortunately, but recognizing what’s happening doesn’t steady his nerves or keep his hands from shaking as he brushes his teeth.

_ What did I do? _

Dean stares at the mirror for a little too long once he’s done grooming, his thoughts carrying him far away. He looks himself in the eyes, blood pounding in his ears and the rest of his face morphing into an alien mask beneath the weight of his frustrated confusion, until the earth rolls beneath his feet and he grabs at the sink to keep his balance.

He clings to the porcelain as he takes a breath, then a second, a third. Oxygen rushes to his brain like he’s just surfaced from a long swim and he lets his head hang between his shoulders as he pants. 

If he doesn’t hurry up, Crowley will come find him and the jury’s out whether it would be out of care or impatience. Dean doesn’t know how he’ll explain why he’s half dressed and hanging over his shitty sink like he has the world’s worst hangover. 

That thought gets Dean up. It’s not every day a guy gets to see Ohio kick Michigan’s ass, after all, and he’s not going to let Crowley use his “precarious emotions” as an excuse not to go.

As Dean passes from the bathroom to his bedroom, he calls over his shoulder “Wanna grab a burger on the way?”  _ It can’t hurt to ask. It isn’t a crime to have fun. It can’t  _ hurt _ to  _ ask.

“Whatever.”

Crowley can’t see him, but Dean nods his response because if he speaks, he’ll shatter. He can already feel the cracks spreading through his heart. He digs his teeth into his lower lip and his nails into his palms; the pain cuts through the rising misery in his chest and in its wake he jabs at his stereo, desperate for distraction. 

Bob Seger’s voice starts playing at a low volume.  _ Against the Wind  _ is soothing and oddly relatable; if it also conveniently masks the absence of conversation...well, Dean’s just not going to look at that. 

By the time he returns to the living room, he’s talked himself into a better place. He can have fun whether Crowley wants to or not, right? It’s not like he’s forcing his boyfriend to come along, after all. Dean flashes Crowley a wide smile as he collects Baby’s keys from the hook.

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” he asks, the words plump and sagging with cheer. 

“If we must,” Crowley says, and Dean’s smile slips a little. “You look good, darling,” his boyfriend adds, and it’s the most genuine thing he’s said all day. The smile returns. It’s faltering and weak, but it’s real. Crowley pats his cheek in response, his fingers gentle and possessive all at once as they trail over skin and lips. “That’s my boy.”

_ That isn’t an apology. _ Dean knows Missouri will tell him as much the next time they meet, and he knows he should stand up for himself. He should tell Crowley how shitty he feels and get it all out there. The opening is there, he should take it, now, before he loses his nerve.

Crowley’s already on the sidewalk outside, glancing at his phone impatiently as he waits for Dean to follow. Dean looks at him, then back at the messy living room. He remembers the tickets in his wallet, how much they cost, how long he’s waited for this moment, and the stories he’ll have for Charlie and Meg when he gets back. 

He locks the door behind him.

They stop at Harvelle’s for burgers, and Dean can tell before they even go in the door that it was the wrong choice to retain harmony. Crowley won’t touch the door, makes a face when they enter, and murmurs “disgusting” when his hand brushes over Dean’s favorite table as they settle down. 

Jo shows up a few minutes later, flannel rolled to the elbows, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and apron slung low on her hips. Dean’s known her since second grade; seeing her feels a bit like coming home. 

“What’s your poison, boys?” she asks, looking between them curiously. 

“The usual,” Dean says easily as he hands over his menu. “No beer though, I have to drive.”

However Jo might have responded, she doesn’t get a chance.

“How do you source your beef?” Crowley’s holding his menu by the edges, examining it with eyebrows lifted and his upper lip curled. By the time he actually orders, Jo is broadcasting her aggravation on every nonverbal frequency, and Dean sincerely wishes he could simply vanish. 

“Did you have to be so rude?” It bursts out before Dean can stop it. 

“That woman was practically salivating on you.” Crowley sits back in his seat, dry-washing his hands in the way he does when impatient and annoyed. “Didn’t you notice?”

“I grew up with her. She’s like a sister to me,” Dean tells him, “and even if she were eyeing me up, what’s it to you? I’m with you, not her.”

“My concern is only sensible, given what you told me about Adam.”

Dean starts to respond, stops, tries again, then gives up altogether. He knows it’s cruel for Crowley to drag John’s infidelity into this conversation, but his mind wants to soothe the hurt away, to rationalize and explain and forgive the transgression. It’s easier that way. He’ll tell Crowley how upset it made him later. 

Crowley’s hand covers his own, and Dean looks up, surprised by the gesture. His boyfriend squeezes a little. “We’ll get ice cream at the stadium,” he says, and Dean relaxes.

They talk of normal things as they eat, and by the time Jo clears away their dishes, Dean’s tentatively hopeful for the rest of the day. Crowley heads for the car while Dean heads up to pay the tab. 

“What the hell, Winchester,” Jo hisses as she pulls up his bill. “Everyone knows Crowley doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. He's a total asshole! What are you doing with him?” 

Dean uses getting his wallet out as an excuse to glance out the window. Crowley’s standing near Baby, completely engrossed in his phone. 

“He’s just having a bad day. I swear he’s usually great.” _Is he though?_ A treacherous part of his mind whispers. _When was the last time you had fun together?_

“Yeah, well. Last time we talked—which was six months ago, by the way, right around the time you hooked up with that sour tubby custard out there—today was going to be a big day for you. Funny thing though: I haven’t seen you smile once since you got here. ”

_ Really? _ Dean thinks back, and realizes, with sinking gut, that she’s right. “Give it up, Harvelle,” he snarks, masking his distress with mock offense. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s wrong, okay? I’ll bring him around for a beer or something soon. I swear!” 

“You better, or I’m setting my mom on your ass.”

Ellen Harvelle is a force to be reckoned with; Dean has no desire to repeat the last time he encountered her wrath. He forces a smile, one of his signature cocky grins that’s gotten him laid more times than he can count. In this case, it’s little more than a brittle mask. “Well, we can’t have that.” 

“No sirree. Now get the hell out of my restaurant.”

“Don’t let your mama hear you say that or I won’t be the only one yelping.”

Jo’s only response is an extended middle finger, and Dean is surprised into an actual laugh as he heads outside. 

“Have a nice chat?” Crowley asks as Dean slides into the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah, she wants to grab a beer and get to know you,” he replies, studiously ignoring Crowley’s sarcasm. He’s tired of bickering, tired of stress, tired of Jo always being right about his love life.  _ Not today, Satan.  _ “Next Thursday, maybe.” 

If Crowley has an objection, he doesn’t voice it. 

After a few minutes of silence—thankfully not noticeably uncomfortable—Dean flips on the radio and loses himself in classic rock. AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and even Lynyrd Skynyrd all get their turn on the drive. Then he’s finding a spot for Baby and getting a parking permit...and at long last he and Crowley are joining the growing stream of people making their way to the Horseshoe. 

The heckling starts long before the gate’s in sight. Red and white clad fans jeer at the few blue and yellow who dare show their faces, and blue and yellow are quick to respond in kind. 

A fight breaks out and security swoops before more than a blow or two can be traded. The guilty parties get yanked out of line and a burly guard with a Louisiana drawl and no-nonsense blue eyes jumps on a concrete block to tell the rest of them that “physical altercations” won’t be tolerated.

Dean remains fairly aloof from the chaos. It’s enough for him to simply  _ be _ there, absorbing the energy of those around him and letting his heart and soul soar high. Crowley is a dark, grumpy shadow next to him, but amid so much laughter and talk, it’s easy to forget about the tension and simply live. 

Someone gets punched behind them, to a chorus of boos and cheers. When Dean spins to look, a dark-haired guy in blue is shoving himself between two other men who had clearly come to blows. The stranger’s fingers wrap into either collar and pull, separating the fighters as easily as a teacher might break up a schoolyard scuffle. “Knock it off, Gabe,” the stranger says to the smaller of the two. “Do you want to get us kicked out before we even get in?”

After one or two more ineffectual swings, the captive man sighs and lets his hands fall to his sides. “Nah, Cas. Not worth it.” The smile he gives his opponent is anything but friendly, however, and Dean wonders how on earth they’re going to stay in line together like this without real physical damage occurring.

Dean steps forward and grabs the Buckeye fan’s other arm, bringing his flailing punches to a total stop. “Come on, man. You wanna fight, or you wanna watch the game?” 

The stranger twists to look up at him. “Fuck off,” he snarls, but he stalks off without looking back once he’s released.  _ Good enough. _

“Thank you,” the taller stranger—Cas—says. 

When Dean actually  _ looks _ at the guy, he’s met with piercing blue eyes beneath hooded lids, a square jaw, stubble for days, and the kind of body Dean can only dream of having. No one has the right to be that attractive, and suddenly Dean is more self-conscious than he’s been since he was an adolescent sneaking his bed sheets to the washing machine before his mom woke up. 

“Only decent thing to do,” he manages to get out. “Name’s Dean. This is my boyfriend, Crowley.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Crowley says in a tone that clearly means the opposite.

“And you,” Cas says easily. He either didn’t pick up on the chill, or he’s purposely ignoring it; he settles back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “I’m Castiel, and that’s my brother Gabriel.” He nods to the guy he’d been restraining. “Is this your first game?”

They talk on and off all as they wait. Castiel shares that he’s an artist who works from home and that he’s not big into sports. Dean declares that a travesty, but forgives him when Cas says he came to keep Gabe company because his friend ditched him. 

Gabriel’s quite the firecracker, Dean soon discovers. He and Cas physically restrain him from trading blows at least twice more, but when he’s not fighting, he’s talking a mile a minute to anyone who will listen. He reminds Dean a little of Sam and he feels a pang of hurt in his chest at the realization.

Even Crowley breaks down and joins in the conversation as they near the gate, talking enthusiastically about his pitbull Juliet when he finds out Cas’s older brother Luke is a dog breeder. 

Getting into the Horseshoe itself is every type of chaotic, and the group gets separated in the process. When Dean realizes he’s lost his new friends, he stands on tiptoes to look for black hair and a blue shirt, since Gabe’s too short to be spotted. There are too many people, however, and too much movement; after a few careful scans, he lets Crowley lead him to the ridiculous line at concessions.

The heavy feeling returns, now they’re alone, but Dean does his best to make the most of it. He matches ever dark comment Crowley makes with something positive, and studiously avoids letting himself feel upset about any of it. 

_ I’m finally here. I won’t let anything ruin this for me, damn it. _

Ice cream and pop in hand, they make their way to their seats. Dean has his eyes glued on the field as he sits, so it isn’t until he hears Crowley’s “Hello, boys,” that he looks at the person to his left. 

“Cas!” he says, his face splitting into a happy grin. There are men and women in red surrounding Cas in every direction; the woman in front of them twists to give them a disapproving scowl, and Dean rolls his eyes in response. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies with a smile. 

They chat for a bit more, but it’s strangely awkward now. Dean’s grateful when the national anthem begins. He settles back as he sings along, slinging an arm around Crowley’s shoulders to pull him close. Crowley smiles up at him and Dean smiles back, grateful for this moment of calm in the storm. 

For a few seconds everything that had happened in this terrible day fades away. Then Crowley shifts to look at the field again and with a sigh, Dean forces himself to do the same. 

The game begins, and awkward conversation is forgotten in the rush of cheering, jeering, and dancing. Crowley may be having a bad day, but he cares about his team, and Dean suspects that Cas’s apathy toward the game may be at least partly an act, based on his reactions to certain plays. 

They keep it classy, at least. Gabe, on the other hand? He doesn’t seem to give a single shit about propriety or his own safety. Surrounded by Buckeyes fans, he still jumps on the bench to yell unabashed insults at the home team and highly inappropriate encouragement to the Wolverines by turns. 

“Why did you two sit  _ here? _ ” Dean inquires during a lull. He waves vaguely in the direction of the crowd of blue on the opposite side of the stadium. “Why not there?”

“Only tickets available,” Cas replies, then looks around uncomfortably. “If I’d known he’d be like  _ this  _ I would have kept looking, to be honest. I’m a little worried we’ll get mugged on the way out.”    
Dean chuckles, but then Ohio scores and it’s a mad rush of yelling and cheering, and he’s vaguely aware that Crowley’s jumping up and down with him, fingers interlocked as they dance. 

The audience settles slowly and Dean looks up to realize the kiss cam is zooming over the crowd. It pauses on a gangly man in a mesh back cap sitting next to a pretty blonde woman, and after a moment of surprise, they share an enthusiastic embrace that has the crowd whistling in approval. 

The camera moves on from couple to couple, a wave of cheers following it. Eventually it stops expectantly, and it takes Dean a second to realize he’s staring at  _ himself and Crowley _ , hands still linked from their cheering earlier. 

Dean laughs and goes for it, his hands sliding up to cup his boyfriend’s face as he leans in for a kiss. 

Crowley pulls away and snaps, “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“Why not?” Dean’s surprised at how steady his voice is, given the shaky mess in his chest.

“I’m not here to enable your ridiculous dramatics, you moron.” 

Crowley’s response is so casually spoken that Dean has to run through it twice before he understands why it hurt. 

He’s painfully aware of the TV focused on his face, on the fact that everyone in that stadium can see the tears brimming in his eyes. Hell, the screen’s so big they can probably see his lips trembling as he struggles to contain his hurt before it bursts out for the entire damn world to see.

“Jo was right,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around himself for stability and comfort as his mind puts all the pieces and comes to a rapid decision. “She’s always fucking right. Go home, Crowley. We’re done.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself, Dean.”

“You deserve better,” Cas growls, and Dean feels his heart sink. Of course Crowley deserves better, but it’s one thing to know it, and quite another for someone else to confirm it.

The next second Dean feels hands on his shoulders and he’s being turned, full body, to face Castiel. Gentle fingers are tipping his chin up, blue eyes are studying his face as if seeing treasure for the first time, and Dean’s confused brain can’t make sense of what’s happening. 

“ _ You _ deserve better,” Cas repeats softly, and there’s no denying who he means this time.

“I-” Dean looks down and wets his lips. His heart is racing and his hands are shaking and the hurt of Crowley’s words is lost in a storm of breathless anticipation as he meets Cas’s eyes once more.

What feels like an entire eternity later, warm lips press against his own. They’re hesitant, gentle, ready to pull away at any moment. Separation is the last thing on Dean’s mind. He can hear roaring in the distance, but every fiber of his being is focused on the velvet touch of that mouth and the spicy scent of Cas’s body wash that completely masks the sweat and dirt of the audience surrounding them.

His hands slide up of their own accord, fingers of one hand twisting into dark hair to yank Cas closer while the other clutches at the front of the other man’s shirt. Dean’s eyes flutter shut, his lips part, and in a split second they shift from a simple, chaste kiss to devouring one another, everything else forgotten in a storm of give and take that he could as soon douse the sun as put out.

Dean’s not sure how much time passes before he starts to come back to earth. The kiss cam has certainly moved on, and by the sound of it the game has started again, but he can’t make himself care. He and Cas are still kissing, and he smells  _ fantastic _ , and he’s strong as fuck and Dean would be lying to say that doesn’t turn him on, and—

_ Get over yourself, Dean. _

Dean yanks himself away, abject panic and disbelief flooding in to fill the space where Cas had been. “Jesus Christ,” he stammers, unsure where to put his eyes or hands in the wake of the most devastating kiss he’s ever received.

Cas is staring at him with parted lips and eyes blown wide, his chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. His hair is standing up in different directions and his shirt is rumpled and distorted in the front where Dean’s fist had been. He’s hot as fuck like that, and Dean wants nothing more than to climb into his lap and kiss the breath out of him again, except  _ we just fucking met. What the hell am I thinking? _

“The other guy left,” Gabe comments in the same tone he might use for the weather. “Said some pretty nasty things first. If you ask me, he seems like a great big bag of dicks and you’re better off without him. Popcorn?” He tilts the tub toward Dean in invitation. 

“I need a drink,” Dean says faintly.

Cas gives him a lopsided smile. “I can’t leave my brother alone right now,” he says, “but I’d be happy to get you one, or several, after the game.”

Dean doesn’t respond immediately. Instead he returns the smile and after another charged moment of staring, forces himself to look away. If someone had asked him three weeks before if he’d ever consider this match a mere  _ distraction _ he would have laughed in their face. However, as the seconds tick by, that’s truly all it is.

_ I broke up with Crowley. _

It doesn’t feel quite real. Once a couple has had an orgy with triplets and candy flipped to Pink Floyd there’s no looking back, right? Life is a highway they travel together, or something like that.

Yet now Dean’s looking back, shit went to hell real fast. Sex, drugs, and alcohol led to loud arguments, shattered mirrors, and more than one broken telephone. It only got worse from there. Dean no-showed Fourth of July with his family, started bailing on Charlie and Meg’s game nights, and told Kevin to fuck off because Crowley said the kid was too nosy. 

Then after that...then he had  _ the _ fight with Sammy, the one that led to his little brother taking off for California alone. They hadn’t spoken since and now he’s thinking clearly, Dean knows it’s his own damn fault.

Dean steps out of the stream of excited people and fumbles his phone out of his pocket. Crowley’s already texted him.

**_> > Color me unsurprised. Like father, like son._ **

**_> > I hope you’re happy, you reprobate._ **

**_> > I’ll come get my stuff tomorrow. Don’t expect forgiveness._ **

Dean rolls his eyes and taps out of the thread. As he opens a new message window, he thanks whatever higher power intervened before he could delete Sammy’s number entirely, rather than just their text thread. 

**< < I’m seeing a therapist and Crowley’s gone. I know you’re pissed and you have every right to be. Can we talk?**

He’s barely aware he has company until he’s shoved his phone back in his pocket and looks around. Cas is standing nearby, looking every bit as much a disaster as Dean feels.

“Where’s Gabe?” Dean asks. 

“He’s heading to his friend Balthazar’s with a few others. They’re having a consolation party that involves a great deal of booze, apparently.” 

“Is that wise?” Dean tries for light and misses by a mile, but Cas doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he steps closer.

“It’s at a campground a good ten miles outside town. No Bucks to fight and a whole lot of nowhere to go if they get hammered.”

“Good call.” 

Dean looks Cas up and down now he’s no longer held back by Crowley’s presence or a crowded bench. Cas clearly tried and failed to straighten his hair since their encounter, and has donned a leather jacket against the late night chill. It hugs him in all the right places and Dean’s body is quick to announce that yes please, he’s  _ very _ interested in that one, thank you.

“So,” he says.

“So,” Cas replies, his eyes crinkling in mirth. “I believe I promised you a drink.”

Dean releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Can I-” his eyes fall to Cas’s lips and he licks his lips, swallows against building desire. “Please.”

Cas responds by grabbing him by the belt loops and guiding him backward one step, then two. Dean twines one arm around Cas’s shoulders and the other slides down, fitting over Cas’s butt like it was made to be there. Cas crushes Dean against the brick wall with the weight of his body in response and his hands shift down and back to cup Dean’s own ass.

Dean emits something uncomfortably close to a whine, and Cas laughs, dark and promising, as he ducks down to mouth at Dean’s jaw. His teeth briefly scrape through stubble, but are quickly replaced by warm lips and wet tongue that caress every inch of skin they can reach.

“Son of a  _ bitch _ ,” Dean gasps, head tipping back to hit the wall with a  _ thump _ . His eyes slide closed and it’s all he can do to hold on as jolt after jolt of electric need lances from Cas’s mouth to Dean’s cock, blood flooding south so fast he feels dizzy. He starts rocking his hips, desperate for friction and Cas makes a pleased sound, his own body rolling tantalizingly. 

A siren goes off shockingly close, and abruptly Dean remembers where they are. 

“Cas, Jesus fuck,  _ Cas _ . We’re on the street. There’s cops all over. We gotta- gotta-” 

Dean takes a shaky breath but before he can go on, Cas yanks his face away. If he’d been a mess in the stadium, he’s beyond disastrous now, a wreck of a human with naked lust in his eyes and fingers that clutch at Dean like he might disappear. 

“Fuck drinks,” Dean says for perhaps the first time in his entire adult life. “Back to my place?”

“If it’s not too far,” Cas says. He kisses Dean as if he can’t resist touching for more than a few seconds.

“Just- just a few minutes,” Dean pants. “My car’s a bit of a hike though, come on.”

Somehow they make it to Baby without incident. Dean opens the passenger door for Cas like a proper gentleman, and is stupidly proud of himself for not even sneaking a kiss before he heads round to his side. 

“Nice wheels,” Cas says, running an appreciative hand over the dash, then twisting to examine the rear seats. “You take good care of her. ‘67 Impala, right?”

The sizzling heat in Dean’s core shifts, transforming into something less hot, but still fiercely happy. “Yup,” he says as he turns the key in the ignition. “She knows she’s my first love. Ain’t that right, Baby?” 

The car purrs in response. Dean shifts into reverse, then pulls the most obvious move in the world by twisting in his seat, laying his arm across the seat so he can see better as he backs out. 

Cas settles back without a word, his hair tickling Dean’s wrist. “So. Football. Cars. Classic Rock,” he nods to the radio. “What else should I know about you, Dean?”

Dean gives him a sideways look. “My name is Dean Winchester and I’m an Aquarius,” he says. “I have a little brother named Sam who’s way smarter than I’ll ever be. I work at a salvage yard by day because someone’s gotta pay the bills, and write paranormal fiction by night because I think it’s fun.” 

“That’s funny,” Cas says with an odd laugh. 

“Why?” Dean can’t quite keep the defensive edge out of his voice. “Don’t look the type, or what?”

“Because I’m into the paranormal, too,” Cas replies, and Christ, this is at least the third time this night he’s known it’s better to ignore Dean’s shit than rise to the bait, and Dean has no idea how to react. “I research supernatural legends, the weirder the better, and paint scenes from them.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously! We’ve probably crossed paths before if you spend much time in the paranormal community online.” 

They spend the rest of the short ride comparing social media habits. It turns out they both lurk the same Discord server, and Cas has read some of Dean’s books and follows his pen name on Twitter. There are people neither of them like as well as people they’re both friends with; in fact, the more they talk, the more Dean can’t believe they haven’t met before. 

“Oh the tangled webs,” he sing-songs as he unlocks the door to his shabby little house and leads Cas inside. 

“Webs can be sexy,” Cas breathes, and suddenly he’s right up in Dean’s face, a thumb running over his bottom lip. The light catches his eyes as he tilts his head, and  _ Jesus Christ  _ they’re incredibly blue. “Wouldn’t you say,  _ Michael d’Angeles _ ?” Of course Cas would pick one of the kinks Dean’s written about that comes straight from his own experience. 

“Yes.” Dean mind conjures an image of ropes moving and tightening against his skin as Cas’s ties careful knots, one after the other, to hold Dean in place. He very nearly groans, but instead manages to breath “fuck, yes,” as he covers Cas’s mouth with his own. 

They stumble and dance their way to the bedroom, losing shoes, socks, jackets, and shirts along the way. Dean gets Cas’s pants undone in the door, but before he can do anything else, Cas grabs him by the hips and physically tosses Dean on the bed. He ignores Dean’s surprised squawk to crawl up, completely naked, and hover over him on all fours. 

Dean’s cock is harder than it’s ever been in his life, but trapped painfully inside his jeans. He reaches for his belt, intent on relieving the pressure, but Cas bats his hands away with a teasing laugh. Dean growls a protest and Cas catches his hands in his own, pressing them to the bed with gentle pressure.

“We’re getting there, sunshine,” Cas murmurs, and his breath is hot on Dean’s skin, a different kind of tease altogether than what they’ve shared so far. “I promise I’ll make it so good for you if you wait.” His lips travel up Dean’s neck to the spot beneath his ear, then back down to ghost along his clavicle. “Can you wait?” 

Dean nods frantically as Cas noses at the hollow at the base of his throat, then presses wet kisses down his chest. Dean’s lost in sensation, twisting and shuddering anew with each caress. Then Cas detours to the side to wrap his lips around a nipple, licking and sucking with practiced skill and Dean loses any semblance of self respect. His fingers curl uselessly against the blanket as he arches into the touch with a strangled sound of want, heat and light and pounding blood consuming him entirely. 

“Please, Cas, take’em off,” he pleads, panting through gritted teeth. “ _ Please. _ ”

Cas flashes a devious grin up at him before moving to the opposite nipple and Dean braces himself for more beautiful torment. Cas just nips at it though, a sharp burst of pain-pleasure that drags another full-throated groan out of Dean.

Then Cas’s mouth is traveling down, and down, and down, until he’s nosing at the hair peeking out of the top of Dean’s pants. He releases Dean’s hands then, and works belt, button, and zipper open so quickly Dean’s barely aware it’s happened until his pants and boxers are being pulled over his hips and off. 

Dean nearly sobs in relief as his dick is released from restriction to arch, hard and desperate, toward his navel just inches from Cas’s face. 

“God you’re so fucking sexy,” Cas says as his hands stroke Dean’s thighs, brushing close to, but not quite, where Dean wants them to be. He leans down and runs his tongue along one side of Dean’s Adonis belt, pausing at his hip to suck a mark there. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” Dean throws his head back into the pillows. It feels fucking amazing, pure pleasure zinging through his body. He abruptly remembers he has hands and buries his fingers in Cas’s hair, tugging sharply at the dark curls as he rocks his hips up and down. 

Cas cups his balls in his palm, fingers pressing up to trap Dean’s cock against his belly until Dean’s whining for more again. Then Cas slowly trails his fingers up the length of Dean’s cock to circle the head.

Then Cas is leaning down and oh god, that’s his mouth and Dean’s making noises like the goddamn pornos and can’t fucking stop himself because this is easily the best blow job of his life. Slick lips, warm tongue, and wet, so wet, surround him and suck deeper and deeper until Dean feels the head of his cock bump against the back of Cas’s mouth. 

Cas just relaxes his jaw, tilts his head, and pushes down more as if deep throating was no big thing at all. Not like it topped the list of Dean’s fantasies or anything, right?

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes. It feels so good that sanity actually returns for a second, his body so overloaded he actually can’t process everything that’s happened. In that odd moment of clarity he can focus on the sight of his cock so far down Cas’s throat that his pink lips are actually pressed against the skin around the base. It’s erotic and filthy, the hottest thing Dean’s ever seen, and he wonders randomly how he’s ever going to have sex again after this because he’s pretty sure this man just ruined him for anyone else.

Cas swallows around him and Dean rolls his hips slowly down and back up again, fucking into that glorious mouth like it’s a heaven-sent gift. To his surprise Cas just  _ takes _ it, again and again, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks and apparently the need to breathe as he goes. Dean would be worried except he can feel Cas’s hands on his ass now, pulling and pushing in time with Dean’s thrusts. 

Dean pushes deep and fast to build pressure within himself, then slow and shallow to let Cas breathe, until he’s sure if he thrusts one more time he’s going to come so hard he’ll see stars for a week. He pauses, his body shaking with the effort it takes, then pulls Cas off and up, legs wrapping around his partner’s waist as their cocks and bodies press together. 

Cas is panting and beautiful as he looks down at Dean, sweat and tears streaking his face, his lips swollen and shining with spit and precome. Dean kisses his mouth clean, fingers caressing Cas’s face with a tenderness that belies his hammering heart and the lust razing his inhibitions to the freaking ground. 

“Want you to fuck me,” he gasps between kisses. “Want to feel you come inside me, Cas.”

Cas bites his lip, tugging outward until it will stretch no more before releasing it. “You’re going to freaking kill me with that mouth of yours, Dean.” He ducks for another kiss, then reaches down to slap Dean’s ass. “Lube? Condoms?”

“There,” Dean pants, pointing to the night stand. “Top drawer.” 

Cas leans forward to reach it and the motion crushes their cocks together. Dean makes a strangled noise and Cas laughs as he pulls back. “So needy,” he whispers as he brushes a kiss on Dean’s earlobe. That’s something Crowley accused him of a million times through their relationship, but this time Dean feels nothing but pleasure because it’s so obvious Cas  _ likes it _ . 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart,” Dean replies. He spreads his legs and gives Cas a challenging stare. 

Cas coats his fingers with lube, then reaches down to run them along Dean’s crack with practiced ease. He simply moves up and down at first, then as his fingertips brush Dean’s rim, Cas presses a little harder with one, moving in slow circles first in one direction, then the next. He retreats for more lube, then goes back to his slow exploration, returning again and again to those teasing circles. 

Dean starts panting and pleading for more after an embarrassingly short time. Cas’s touch feels fucking  _ amazing _ and he never wants it to stop, but at the same time he wants more, so god damn much more. If he’s learned anything in the last twenty minutes though, it’s that Cas will give exactly what he wants, when he wants, and there’s no point in being impatient about it. 

A finger finally slips inside him and Dean practically stops breathing as he wiggles down to take as much as he possibly can. Cas curls it upward and begins to rub, his brows drawn together in concentration as he stares down at where his finger is entering Dean’s body. “Left,” Dean gasps. “Up a little.” It’s no mystery what Cas is looking for after all, and Dean’s not about to sit around and wait for Cas to find it blind. “Yes- yesyesyes _there!_ "

To his surprise, Cas only gives his prostate a few cursory rubs before pulling out. He wipes his hand on the blanket with a muttered apology that Dean would find endearing if his dick wasn’t so hard it could cut diamond, then grabs the condom. After a brief fight with the wrapper, he gets the damn thing on and he’s finally coating his cock in lube.

“Ready?” Cas asks as his eyes rove over Dean’s body.

Dean rolls onto his belly and up to all fours, ass tilted up in a totally shameless invitation. He balances himself on one hand to tug gently at his cock hanging neglected between his legs as he looks back at Cas. “I was ready before we left the damn stadium,” he snarks. “Fuck me already.”

“Wow, so rude.” Cas says teasingly as his body presses against Dean’s ass. “Maybe I should just keep...teasing you. Teach you a lesson.” His hand pushes Dean’s hand away, fingers wrapping around his cock with just enough pressure to be felt, but not enough to satisfy.

“I swear to god I’m going to kick your fucking ass all the way to Ann Arbor,” Dean snarls.

“I’d like to see you try,” Cas says with a huff of laughter, “but don’t worry sunshine, I won’t make you wait anymore.”

Castiel reaches down to guide himself forward and finally, fucking  _ finally _ , Dean can feel the head of that perfect cock pushing against him, pressure building until Cas slides in. It stings a little, but that simply adds to the sensations, a touch of pain to temper the overwhelming pleasure. Dean grabs at a pillow and lets himself drop to his elbows on top of it as he gasps for breath. 

Cas pauses before he’s fully seated to let Dean adjust to his girth. Dean wiggles around a little, breathing slowly and willing his body to relax and take the intrusion. He can feel Cas behind him, practically vibrating in his need to move even as he gives Dean’s needs priority. 

_ Can this man be any more perfect?  _

Deans shoves himself back in one smooth movement, stopping only when his butt is pressed firmly against Cas’s thighs and Cas’s cock is sheathed from head to root in Dean’s ass.

“ _ Dean! _ ” That ragged cry is incredibly satisfying, after Cas’s carefully staged control up to this point.

“You can move now,” Dean says, unable to mask his delight at Cas’s reaction. He pulls himself forward, then pushes back again, each move sharp and deliberate. When he starts to pull forward a second time, he feels strong fingers curl around his hips hard enough to bruise, yanking him back in place, then pushing him away and off. Again. Again. Dean lets his head fall, the pillow beneath him muffling his cries as Cas sets a savage rhythm.

A few strokes in, Cas adjusts his stance, and this time when he slams in, the head of his cock rubs across Dean’s prostate with enough pressure that he sees stars with every shift. In and out, constant movement, constant pressure, constant tingling pleasure that consumes Dean’s every possible thought. He needs to come so bad he might actually be crying, and still Cas keeps going. 

Eventually Cas slows a little and Dean whimpers his objection into the pillow. His partner simply runs a comforting hand along Dean’s spine, then slides it around his thigh to circle Dean’s cock. From there it’s a push and pull; back onto Cas’s cock, forward into the lubed-up vice grip of his hand. 

The push and pull, slick wet, pressure-tight-full feeling is incredible and suddenly he’s hurtling toward the edge so fast he’s sure to break when he goes over.  _ “Castiel! _ ” He screams into the pillow. “Fuckfuck... _ fuck, Cas! _ ”

White-hot heat consumes him until abruptly it’s too much to hold on to. His back arches and his fingers warp so tightly into the sheets that they ache, his feet beating on the bed and his cock throbbing as he paints Cas’s hand and the blanket beneath with white streaks. 

Cas reaches up with his dirty hand to pull Dean upright by his left shoulder, his dick still deep in Dean’s ass. Dean rolls his hips automatically, milking his partner for all he’s worth. It doesn’t take long until Cas tips forward with a snarled oath, clutching Dean to his chest as they both fall to the bed. Cas’s cock jumps and spurts as he comes, and Cas’s body shudders along with it, his breath coming fast and uneven until finally everything stills.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean manages once he remembers how to move his head to get his face out of the pillow. 

“Amen,” Cas replies in a reverent tone.

They laugh then, quiet and exhausted, while Cas carefully pulls free of Dean’s body and disposes of the condom. Dean brushes his fingers over his rim experimentally, hissing a little at the sting.

“Did I hurt you?” Cas asks with such genuine concern that Dean’s startled out of his reverie.

“No,” he says, letting his legs fall back together. “I’ll feel it tomorrow for sure, but I’m choosing to call it a badge of honor.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me about tomorrow,” Cas says, throwing one arm over his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?” 

Dean reaches over the edge of the bed, fumbling until he finds his pants and retrieves his phone. “Almost one,” he says.

He notices he has new messages and a couple of missed calls, and taps in his security code with some trepidation. To his relieved surprise, they’re from Sam.

**_> > So I really did see you dump Crowley on live TV. It’s about time._ **

**_> > Who’s the hot Prince Charming?_ **

**_> > Dean, answer your damn phone._ **

Dean laughs, and taps a response.

**< < His name’s Castiel. Be glad I didn’t answer the phone. **

Mere seconds later, he gets a response.

**_> > Gross, dude._ **

**_> > I’m actually in Columbus visiting mom. Lunch at the roadhouse?_ **

**< < I’ll be there.**

Cas’s arm snakes around Dean’s waist and he feels the other man’s face nudge against his shoulder. “Who are you talking to?” He asks. 

“My brother,” Dean says, twisting around to face Castiel. “I think everything’s going to be okay.” 

Their lips brush, tentative at first, and then more confidently, and for the first time in a long time, Dean lets himself believe good things can happen. 

_ Two years later _

It had taken some finagling to get the exact same seats they’d had two years before, but it’s worth the effort when Dean leads Cas, Gabe, and Sam to the bench and sees Cas and Gabe’s faces light up in recognition. 

Dean and Sam are sensibly attired in OSU gear, while Cas is at least wearing a red shirt this time around. Gabe is still zealous in his support of his favorite team, however, no matter how much they legitimately suck, and his blue and yellow shirt stands out like a sore thumb. 

He and Sam have been arguing some minor point of legality for the past forty minutes, their heads tipped near one another to be heard over the crowd. Dean lost track of the actual topic before it even began, but it’s good to see his brother healed enough from losing Jess to have fun sometimes, even if his definition of “fun” is a little quirky. 

Cas is sitting between Dean and Gabe, just as he had been that day two years before, but unlike the first time, he and Dean are sitting thigh to thigh, fingers linked together on their knees. 

“Donna says we got what we wanted for  _ Purgatory _ ,” Cas says after reading through a message on his phone. 

Dean punches Cas in the shoulder with his free hand in his excitement. “Holy shit, we did it!”

He supposes it’s a foregone conclusion that when a writer and an artist who share a common interest meet and fall in love, they’ll eventually end up making books together. In this case he and Cas have created a series of graphic novels that follow the adventures of a band of found family who hunt supernatural creatures and protect the world. 

They’d found their agent, Donna, by accident a few months after finishing the first book and after approximately two minutes of discussion, submitted a draft to her for consideration. The response they’d received a few days later was enthusiastically positive, and from that point on, there’d been no looking back. 

“We sure did.” Cas starts to say something else, but then the band is on the field and the familiar starting bars of the national anthem ring out over the speakers. 

The game progresses, and eventually the kiss cam begins its erstwhile journey about the crowds. Dean and Cas have been deliberately making a huge fuss through the whole game to get the camera’s attention, so Dean isn’t terribly surprised when it pauses on them. 

This time when Dean goes in for a kiss, his partner responses enthusiastically. To his surprise, however, Cas pulls away rather quickly, and his heart tries to stop in his chest.

Then Cas pulls his hand out of his pocket, a gold ring perched between his fingers.

“Marry me?” Cas asks, his eyes so fucking blue Dean could drown in them.

The kiss cam, Dean notes vaguely, had been about to zoom away. Now it pauses, the cameraman clearly into sharing this new development. 

“Of course I will,” Dean replies, once he trusts his voice not to shake and his eyes not to erupt into embarrassing fountains of salt.

Cas slips the ring on his finger to the sound of a hundred thousand people cheering. Dean is red-faced and stammering by that point, but he holds his hand up anyway, displaying the band for the camera even as he grabs his boyfriend by the collar and yanks him forward for another deep kiss that leaves him dizzy and completely oblivious to anyone else. 

\--

He and Cas stay up late that night to run through the recording Cas had made of the TV broadcast. “You’re a fucking sneak,” Dean tells him for the fifteenth time, but the smile won’t leave his face and he can’t stop staring at the ring on his finger.

“But you love me anyway.”

“But I love you anyway,” Dean confirms. On screen, he’s just held his hand up to display his engagement ring. The crowd is cheering and he and Cas are kissing. It’s absolutely fucking perfect, and he can’t believe Cas pulled it off so perfectly.

They’re still kissing when the camera pans to the side, to reveal a very tall man in a red jersey kissing the living daylights out of a much shorter man in blue and yellow. Neither of them seem aware the camera’s on them at all.

“—What the  _ hell? _ ” 

Cas is still laughing by the time Dean remembers how to think and gets his bitch of a brother on the line to fucking  _ explain himself right now _ , thank you very much. 

He supposes he should be glad the call goes to voicemail. 

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you read? Want to chat with other Destiel fans? Meet me in the [Profound Discord](http://discord.profoundbond.net/)!
> 
> HOLY SHIT I WROTE A SMUT. I'd really love to know what y'all think about it, because this has been a long time coming, so to speak. ;)


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